


Tangled: A Sherlock Au

by SherlockedCumbercookie



Series: Disney Sherlock Au [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Brainwashing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Kid Fic, Kidlock, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, No Smut, Orphans, Pans, Prince Sherlock Holmes, Redbeard (dog), Running Away, Sherlock has looooong hair, Sherlock's Curls, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Sherlock's Violin, Teenlock, Thief John Watson, sherlock bangs people on the head with pans, sherlock has a pan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedCumbercookie/pseuds/SherlockedCumbercookie
Summary: This is the story of how I died.Oh, don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story. And the truth is, it isn’t even mine.This is the story of a boy named Sherlock.And it starts with the moon.A Sherlock/Rapunzel Au
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Disney Sherlock Au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905622
Comments: 27
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I hope you enjoy this!!!!!!
> 
> The prologue is short but the chapters will be much longer :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> My name is Jaci and I'm so excited to share this story with y'all! I've got some positive feedback and I can't be happier! Please leave a comment because that's what makes me smile and kudos would be nice too!

This is the story of how I died. 

Oh, don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story. And the truth is, it isn’t even mine. 

This is the story of a boy named Sherlock. 

And it starts with the moon.

Now, once upon a time, a single drop of moonlight fell from the heavens.

And from this small drop of moonlight, grew a magic, silver, flower.

It had the ability to heal the sick, and injured, and gave the gift of youth. 

Oh, you see that old man, over there? You might want to remember him. He’s kind of important. His name is Jim Moriaty and he is the adviser to the king of a great kingdom. Moriaty had earned the king’s trust over the years, and the king started handing more and more of his royal duties over to Moriaty. Everyone in the kingdom feared Moriaty but the king did not see through to the man’s evil heart. 

The queen, the beloved wife of the king, was about to have a baby and she got sick. Really, really sick. She was running out of time. And that’s when people usually start looking for a miracle. Or, in this case, a magic silver flower. The king sent out all his soldiers to search the moors for any trace of the silver blossom. It was the only thing that could heal the queen. The soldiers went out, accompanied by the citizens of the kingdom, who were greatly worried for their queen. They scoured the hills and mountains, searching for that magic silver flower. 

Unfortunately, the task was not easy. You see, instead of sharing the moon’s gift, the advisor, Jim Moriaty, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep himself young for hundreds of years. And all he had to do was sing a special song. The lyrics go like this:

Flower, gleam and glow,  
Let your magic shine,  
Make the clock reverse  
Bring back what once was mine

Jim kept the flower hidden underneath a camouflaged basket and whenever he was feeling ill, he would go and sing to the flower and get rejuvenated by the flower’s healing powers. When he heard that the king and all the kingdom was searching for the magical flower, Jim fled to the hills with a shovel. He could not let them get their hands on the very flower that was his life source. He would dig it up if he had to. 

Unfortunately, for Jim, but fortunately for the ill queen, the soldiers happened upon the flower and Jim Moriaty ran away before he could be caught. The flower was dug up-roots and all and brought immediately to the king. The petals were ground into a broth and brought to the quen. The magic of the flower healed the queen and a healthy baby boy, a prince, was born. With beautiful, curly black hair and eyes the color of the sea.  
I’ll give you a hint.

That’s Sherlock. 

To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen and their elder son, Prince Mycroft, launched a flying lantern into the sky. For that one moment, everything was perfect. And then, the moment ended. 

Jim Moriaty was angered that his precious life source had been taken away and he was determined to get it back. The magic had flowed into baby Sherlock and his raven curls carried the special gift of healing and youthfulness. Moriaty snuck into the baby prince’s nursery, armed with a pair of scissors. He took hold of one of Sherlock’s curls and began to sing the spell softly. 

Flower gleam and glow…

No!

It couldn’t be!

The moment the scissors had clipped the curl, the lock of hair had grown a pale, moonlight silver, the magic gone. 

It was then that Moriaty knew what he had to do. 

He broke into the castle and stole the child, just like that… gone. 

The queen awakened to find the cradle empty of her beloved son. 

The Kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the little Prince. The king and queen cried together, fearing that the worst had happened to their beloved son. After weeks and weeks of searching, the hunt was called off. The little prince was gone without a trace. Filled with grief, the queen locked herself away from the rest of the world and the king put his anger and sorrow into building the kingdom into a stronger, richer country. 

However, deep within the forest, where no soul would dare wander, in a hidden tower, Moriaty raised Prince Sherlock as his own. He kept the child locked up in the tower, filling the boy’s mind with lies that the world was a dangerous place full of people who would only do him harm. Sherlock believed this and he loved his father, so he grew up to believe that he could never leave his tower room or great danger would befall him. 

Every evening, whilst by the fire, Jim would comb Sherlock’s long, untamed curls and have the boy sing to him. The tower room would be filled with the sweet, childish voice of the little lost prince, who knew not where he came from. 

But the walls of that tower could not hide everything. Each year, on the prince’s birthday, the King and Queen and Prince Mycroft released thousands of lanterns into the sky. In hope that one day, their lost Prince would return.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is not realistic for a dog to stay cooped up in a tower all these years but.. just imagine lol

Sherlock woke up to find himself staring into the face of Redbeard. The Irish Setter dog had straddled his master and was happily working at licking Sherlock’s face clean. Sleepily, Sherlock pushed Redbeard away. “What in the world? Redbeard! You’re up early!” Sherlock turned his head towards the windows, where the early morning light was seeping in. Redbeard licked Sherlock’s hand before jumping off the bed and gesturing towards the door with his head. Sherlock sighed and pulled his covers over his face. “I know I know. You’re hungry but I don’t want to get up and do all the chores.” 

He groaned at the thought of the long list of chores Moriaty had left him. Sweep the floor, then polish it, do the dishes, clean the windows, dust the furniture… the list went on and on and he had to do everything by himself. Redbeard wasn’t much help. “Oh darn, and on top of that I have to brush my hair.” Sherlock looked down at his long, black curls which lay spread out on the bed and spilling off the sides. “Ugh… alright, I’m up.” Sherlock sat up and slid out of his bed. He grabbed a bunch of his long curls and sighed. “Let’s go eat.” 

When he got to the kitchen, he discovered that Moriaty had already eaten-the remains of an apple and some bread crumbs were on the table. Redbeard immediately put his two front paws up on the table and licked up the scraps while Sherlock rummaged around in the pantry for oatmeal. “I hope Father goes shopping soon. We’re running out of flour and other things,” he remarked, pulling the bucket of oats out of the pantry and setting it on the table.

Redbeard sat down and wagged his tail happily. 

Sherlock tilted his head, studying his furry friend’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, boy, and I’m not so sure it’ll work. But I am turning eighteen in a few days….” He trailed off, turning his attention to the open window nearby. Wandering over, he propped his elbows on the sill and gazed out. For miles, all he could see was trees and above the treeline was the sky, a brilliant blue. A butterfly flitted past and paused momentarily to sit on Sherlock’s nose. The boy gently coaxed the insect onto his hand and studied the butterfly’s beautiful wings. “Just think… Tomorrow night, the lights will appear, Redbeard. I just have to take my chance and ask Father. I’m older now and I’m more mature. I can protect myself.” He couldn’t help but feel a little sad when the butterfly fluttered away, disappearing into the trees. “I’ll ask him… when he comes home.” 

********************

Ace Watson balanced precariously on the edge of the roof of the royal palace, gazing over the small kingdom. He drew in a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, cool air and the breeze toying with his blond locks. “Wow, I could get used to a view like this!” he exclaimed. He placed a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun and drank in the sight of the glorious kingdom. Although the kingdom wasn’t the largest, it was a place of happiness, where everyone had enough to eat and where everyone had a warm bed to sleep in at night. Unfortunately, everyone except Ace Watson, who happened to be on very bad terms with the king’s guardsmen. 

“Hey Ace, you coming?” 

Ace turned around to stare at his comrades-the two Moran Brothers. 

“Hold on.” He turned back around for a second. “Alright. I’m used to it. Guys, I want a castle.” He slung his pack over his shoulder and scrambled across the roof to his companions, who were anxiously glancing about, most likely expecting to be discovered at any moment. 

“If we do this job, you can buy your own castle,” Sebastian Moran growled. “Now come on. Stop fooling around Ace.” 

Ace frowned at Sebastian’s sour tone. “Shut it, Seb. I’m in charge here. Now, let’s go.” 

The Crown of the Lost Prince lay on a velvet cushion atop a marble column in the sacred throne room of the palace. The Crown was a simple yet beautiful design of silver and gold twisted together with tiny diamonds. When the sun reflected off of it, it was as if hundreds of tiny rainbows were dancing on the walls and floors. The Crown was kept under heavy guard and only the King and Queen were allowed to touch the valuable heirloom. They often came to the throne room to gaze at the crown and feel connected to their lost son. 

Unfortunately, the Crown was the target of a certain thief named Ace Watson. 

Before the royal guards could react, the crown was stolen by Ace’s swift hands and the chase had begun. Ace, clutching his satchel with the crown in it to his chest, raced across the rooftop, whooping happily at the top of his lungs. “Can't you picture me in a castle of my own? I mean, I certainly can!” He glanced over his shoulder at the two Moran brothers, who were struggling to keep up. “Oh, the things we’ve seen and it’s only eight in the morning!” Laughing, he skidded to a stop at the edge of the roof, swung himself onto a drainage pipe and slid down to the ground before blending into the crowd. “Gentlemen, this is a very big day!!!” 

******************************

“This is it. This is a very big day, Redbeard,” Sherlock said, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to ask him.” He squared his thin shoulders and lifted his chin. “I look more older and mature, don’t I, Redbeard?” he asked nervously. Unhelpfully, Redbeard merely licked his master’s hand in response. Sherlock slumped. “Yeah, I look like a girl… a 12-year-old girl and not a 17-year-old-soon to be 18-boy.” Indeed, when he looked into the mirror, he saw a child much younger than he really was, with long black curls that cascaded down his shoulders to the floor and a too-thin nose and eyes that could pierce into your very soul. He was thin; his clothes hung off his frame like rags. He had a few freckles-the only color on his otherwise deathly pale face. There was nothing attractive or mature about him. He looked like a whore.

“Sherlock!” 

A high-pitched, sing-songy voice broke through Sherlock’s musings. 

“Let down your hair!” 

Sherlock exchanged excited glances with Redbeard. “It’s time! I know, I know! Come on, get under the bed. You know how Father is when you get so excited.” He quickly shoved the dog under the bed and raced to the window to peer out. Down below, his father stood, swatched in a black cloak and carrying a rather large basket. 

“Sherlock, I’m not getting any younger down here,” Father called up, sounding slightly irritated. 

“Coming!” Sherlock bunched his hair up, tossed it over a hook protruding from just above the window, and lowered down his long curls until they brushed the grass below. He waited until his father was firmly clinging on and began to slowly, and surely pull. When at last Father stepped into the tower room, Sherlock rushed forward and quickly removed his father’s cloak. “Hi! Welcome home, Father,” he said eagerly, plastering a fake smile on his face. 

“Oh, Sherlock! How you manage to do that every single day without fail, it looks absolutely exhausting, darling!” Moriaty wheezed, setting the basket down on the table and pausing to admire his reflection in the mirror. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sherlock replied, blushing slightly. 

“Then I don’t know why it takes so long,” Moriaty said. “Oh, darling, I’m just teasing!” He broke into high-pitched laughter that made Sherlock squirm. 

He glanced at the bed and saw Redbeard looking at him. It’s time. “Alright…. so , father… as you know, tomorrow is a very big day and-” 

“Sherlock, darling, look at the mirror,” Father interrupted, gathering Sherlock into his arms. “You know what I see? I see a confident, strong, handsome young man! And… oh! Look! You’re here too. Oh darling, I’m just teasing! Stop taking everything so seriously!” Moriaty slapped his thigh as he doubled over with laughter. Sherlock watched, stone-faced, unable to understand what was so hilariously funny.

“Um… okay? So… father… I was thinking that tomorrow-” 

“Flower, daddy’s feeling a little run down. Would you sing for me, darling? Then we’ll talk.” 

Sherlock flushed, mortified. He’d forgotten. “Oh! Yes! Of course!” He shoved over a chair and pushed the hairbrush into Moriaty’s hands. “Flowergleamandglowletyourpowershinemaketheclockreversebringbackwhatoncewasmine,” he sang quickly as a startled Moriaty ran the brush through Sherlock’s tangled curls. So engrossed in getting the song over with that Sherlock did not notice the look of displeasure on his ‘ father’s’ face. 

“Sherlock!” Moriaty snapped but the youth was so excited that he paid no attention. 

“So, father, earlier, I asked if tomorrow was a pretty big day and you didn’t really respond so I’m just going to tell you!” He smirked, waiting to see Moriaty’s reaction. When nothing happened, he burst out, “It’s my birthday! Tada!” 

Moriaty stared back with dim, dull eyes. “No no… it can’t be, darling. I distinctly remember. Your birthday was last year.” He laid a hand on Sherlock’s head and ran his fingers through the boy’s soft, dark curls. Although, for some strange reason, being touched like this by Moriaty repulsed him, Sherlock knew better than to resist, so he allowed Moriaty to keep touching his hair. 

“Um… that’s the funny thing about birthdays,” he ventured hesitantly, twiddling his thumbs nervously. “They’re kind of an annual thing…” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Father, I’m turning eighteen. I wanted to ask, what I really want for this birthday… actually what I want for every birthday…” 

Moriaty stood up with a loud, bored sign. “Sherlock, please, stop with the mumbling! You know how I feel about the mumbling. Blah blah blah blah blah. It’s very very very annoying.” He grinned, displaying his rotten teeth. “I’m just teasing darling, you’re adorable! I love you so much, darling.” He tweaked Sherlock’s nose and it took everything for Sherlock not to pull away. He was much too old for teasing. 

“Oh… okay… I want to see the floating lights,” he burst out before his father could interrupt him with another ‘comedy’ session. 

“What?” Moriaty stopped in his tracks. 

“Well… I was hoping you would take me to see the floating lights… You know…” 

Moriaty threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you mean the stars, don’t you, darling? Well, you could just look out the window. You don’t need to go anywhere.” 

“That’s the thing, Father. I’ve charted stars and they are always constant. But these, they appear every year on my birthday, father. Only on my birthday. And….” He trailed off, lowering his gaze and swallowing hard. “And I can’t help but feel that they’re… they’re meant for me. I need to see them, Father, and not just from my window. In person. I have to know what they are…” He knew that explaining his deep emotions and feelings to his father would result in nothing but another round of mocking so he quietly hoped that his father would be willing to listen. 

“You want to go outside?” Moriaty asked shortly, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, but why, Sherlock? Look at you!” He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and spun him around to face the mirror. “You’re as fragile as a flower! Still a little sapling… just a sprout! You know why we stay up in this tower, don’t you?” 

Sherlock swallowed, glaring hard at his reflection. “I know but-” 

“That’s right, my pet, to keep you safe and sound, dear. Guess I always knew this day was coming. Know that soon you’d want to leave the nest. Soon… but not yet. Shh…” Moriaty placed a finger to Sherlock’s lips. “Trust me, pet. Father knows best. Darling, the world is full of wicked people who will prey on your beautiful and innocent heart! You are so gullible and so young, my pet! You would be snatched up in a jiffy by people who would do you harm! I only keep you in here to protect you, darling, Please, you must understand! I wouldn’t want anything happening to my favorite flower.” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pressing their two bodies together. “All I have is one reqest, darling.” 

“Yes?” Sherlock whispered. 

“Don’t ever ask to leave this tower again.”


	3. Chapter Two

“Oh, no, no! This is bad! This is very, very bad! This is really bad!” Ace cried, clutching the wanted poster in his hand. “They just can’t get my nose right!” Once again, a very poorly talented artist had made Ace’s nose two sizes too big. Unfortunately, no one could seem to get his face right. 

“Who cares?” Sebastian Moran grunted, pausing to adjust his belt. 

“Well, it’s easy for you to say,” Ace said, squinting down at the paper and frowning. “You guys look amazing.” 

“Stop thieves!” 

Ace dropped the paper and whirled around to see about a dozen guardsmen chasing after them. At the head of the group was a man with graying brown hair and tired dark eyes. Greg Lestrade, captain of the Guardsmen. “That’s our cue to go, boys!” Ace bolted ahead into the woods, whooping at the top of his lungs as he skirted over the leaf covered ground and leapt over fallen logs. The Moran brothers, not as quick on their feet as Ace, followed behind, stumbling over their own feet and cursing loudly. 

Suddenly, Ace nearly crashed into a high stone wall. 

The Moran brothers skidded to a stop, panting for breath. 

“Alright, okay. Give me a boost and I’ll pull you up,” Ace ordered. 

The brothers exchanged glances. “Give us the satchel first,” one of them growled. 

“Wha? I just… I can’t believe that after all we’ve been together, you don’t trust me!” Ace said, feigning a broken heart. He stuck out his bottom lip. “Ouch. Guys, that really hurts.” He slipped them the satchel and the brothers grabbed it greedily. While the brothers helped him up, Ace slipped the satchel from Seb’s belt and slipped it into his own belt. 

“Now help us up, pretty boy.” 

Ace held up the satchel and howled with laughter. “Sorry! My hands are full!” And he bolted off. 

“WATSON!!!!!” 

While the guardsmen were busy with the Moran brothers, Ace ran deeper and deeper into the forest. He had never been so far away from the town before but if he got lost, he knew how to build a fire and survive, so he wasn’t too worried. However, it would only be a matter of minutes before the guardsmen would be upon him and he would be finished. Hanged, basically. The thought of a rope around his neck made him run faster. He reached a cave, which upon first glance appeared to be a tunnel of some sort. Ducking through the cave tunnel, he came out on the other side and gasped in wonder. There was a bright green meadow with beautiful wildflowers blooming. A creek gurgled happily. A doe and her fawn were at the water’s edge, delicately lapping up water. And in the middle of this picturesque scene was an ancient stone tower.   
With the sounds of horses and men behind him, Ace made a beeline for the tower. As there appeared to be no door or stairs, he began the arduous climb up the sides of the tower. Thankfully, there were plenty of ledges for him to cling too and he reached the window in no time. Cautiously peering inside, he discovered that the tower appeared to be lived in. There was a bed with rumpled sheets and several books strewn out on the floor. A table near the window contained what appeared to be beakers and a microscope. The walls were covered with mathematical equations and scientific calculations. His eyes wary, Ace climbed in and gazed about the room. “Hello?” 

Thud!

Something hard hit his head and he doubled over, his vision blackening.

***********************

Sherlock screamed loudly when the pan struck the intruder’s head. He ducked behind the curtains and peered out. The intruder lay still on the floor, completely unconscious. Redbeard crawled out from under the bed and hesitantly approached the prone form. Summoning up his courage, Sherlock gripped the pan in both hands and followed Redbeard’s lead. “Oh god… what am I doing?” he muttered, reaching out and poking the stranger’s head with the pan. There was no response. 

Redbeard anxiously whined and nosed at the stranger’s face. 

“I know… Men with scary teeth... That’s what Father said. Hmmm… let’s see if Father’s right.” He flipped the pan around and with the handle, pushed up the stranger’s lips, expecting to see razor sharp, blood stained teeth. Instead, he found perfect, straight, white teeth that seemed harmless. Still using the handle, he flipped the stranger’s hair out of his face. The stranger didn’t look threatening or gruesome as Moriaty had made all men out to be. Rather, the stranger looked like a prince or a knight from one of Sherlock’s novels. The stranger had golden tanned skin and a strong jaw. His hair was light as straw and he looked…. Beautiful… lying there with his eyes closed. 

“Shut up!” Sherlock growled, clutching his pan close. What was this strange hot feeling in the pit of his stomach and what was that? Were his cheeks turning red? Redbeard wagged his tail knowingly and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop it, Redbeard.” He glazed back down at the stranger and saw that the man’s eyes were open. Panicking, he raised the pan and brought it back down on the man’s head. Redbeard worriedly whined and licked the man. “He’s a bad guy, Redbeard, until proven innocent. We need to restrain him.” Seeing a chair nearby, Sherlock had an idea. 

He bound his unconscious prisoner to the chair with his long hair. The stranger made no sound as Sherlock tightened his hair around the man’s wrists. With his trusty pan in his hands, Sherlock retreated to the shadows with Redbeard to keep a wary eye on their prisoner. 

It seemed like only a few minutes before the prisoner awoke. Upon realizing he was trapped, he began yanking at his bonds. “Oi! Is this…. Hair?” the stranger grunted, glaring down at Sherlock’s dark curls wrapped around his wrists and ankles. 

“Struggling…. Ahem… struggling is pointless,” Sherlock spoke from the shadows, making sure to keep out of sight. “I know why you are here… and I’m not afraid of you.” At his side, Redbeard rose to all fours and growled menacingly. Feeling bold, Sherlock stepped from the shadows, revealing his face. “Who are you and how did you find me?” 

***************

Ace gazed into the face of the most beautiful human being he had ever laid eyes on. A boy… It was a boy. He could tell by the deep voice that so unsuited the youthful appearance of the creature. The boy had long, black curls that trailed down his back and across the floor and -oh- that’s what Ace was tied up with. He looked into the boy’s eyes, fascinated by their unique coloring: blue one moment, green the next, and sometimes silver, depending on the way the light hit them. Plush, rose red lips shaped like Cupid’s bow were parted slightly in an endearing fashion that made Ace’s heart pound. The boy had high, sharp cheekbones and despite his gaunt appearance, looked striking in the purple tunic and black leggings he wore. 

“Um? Hello?” the boy asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Ace shook himself and put on his best face. “I know not who you are. Nor how I came to find you. But may I just say….Hi! How are you doing? The name is Ace Watson. How’s it going, huh?” 

The boy merely stared back at him, looking blank. “Who else knows my location, Ace Watson?” he asked and Ace nervously recoiled as the boy neared him, deadly pan in hand. 

“Alright Curly-”

“Sherlock.” 

Gesundheit, here's the thing. I was in a situation… Gallivanting through the forest. I came across your tower and…. Ho, ho, no! Where is my satchel?” Panicking he looked about the room. 

The boy lifted his chin. “I hid it… where you will never ever find it.” 

Ace blinked. “It’s in that pot, isn’t it?” 

The next thing he knew, a wet tongue was sticking in his ear and he realized that he had been knocked out again. He butted heads with the big red dog beside him. “Would you stop that?” 

The boy walked forward, swinging the pan casually. “Now I’ve hidden it where you will never find it. So! What do you want with my hair? To cut it?” The pan was again brought dangerously close to Ace’s head and he silently prayed that he wouldn’t have a cracked skull by the end of this ordeal. 

“What?” 

“Sell it?” The pan was inches closer. 

“Oh god! No! Listen, the only thing I want to do with your hair is to get out of it. Literally.” Ace tugged at his hair bonds and glared at the beautiful boy. 

“Wait?” The boy sounded confused. “You mean you don’t want my hair?” He regarded Ace with suspicious blue eyes. 

“Why on earth would I want your hair? Look, kid, I was being chased, I saw a tower, I climbed it, end of story. Is this supposed to be an interrogation?” 

“You’re telling the truth?” the boy asked, raising the pan above Ace’s head. 

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” Ace shouted desperately. 

The boy lowered the pan and frowned, studying Ace with those intense blue eyes. For a minute, it was just an awkward silence with the two of them staring at each other. Ace was the first to look away. He tried to ignore the heat pooling in his belly. This boy was beautiful, he could not deny it. “Alright then, Ace Watson. I am prepared to offer you a deal,” the boy announced finally, lifting his chin. “Look this way.” Curly (or Sherlock?) yanked on the hair, jerking Ace’s chair around until he was facing a wall. The wall had a beautiful painting of the forested hills and small yellow lights floating up into the dark, starry sky. “Do you know what these are?” 

Ace sighed. “You mean the lantern thing they do for the prince?” 

The boy looked startled. “Lanterns!!! I knew they weren’t stars. Father was wrong and on several accounts. He has a lot to answer for. Well, anyway, tomorrow evening, they will light the night sky with these.. Lanterns. You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns, and return me home safely. Then… and only then..” Here, the boy paused to waggle the pan threateningly in Ace’s face.. “Will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal.” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking triumphant. 

“Um… yeah… no can do. Unfortunately, the kingdom and I are not exactly simpatico at the moment. So I won’t be taking you anywhere,” Ace replied with a huff. 

The boy leaned close, glaring. “Something brought you here, Ace Watson. Call it what you will. Fate… destiny…” 

“My own two legs.” 

“So I have made the decision to trust you.” 

“A horrible decision, really.” 

“But trust me when I tell you this: You can tear this tower apart, brick by brick, but without my help, you will never find your precious satchel.” 

Ace cleared his throat, suddenly realizing that he was caught. “Okay… let me just get this straight. I take you to see the lanterns. Bring you back home, and you’ll give me back my satchel?” 

“I promise.” 

Ace lifted an eyebrow. 

“And I when I promise something, I never ever break that promise.” 

Ace lifted the other eyebrow. 

“EVER!” And again the pan swung dangerously close to Ace’s skull. 

“Alright, listen. I didn’t want to have to do this but you leave me no choice,” Ace said in a low, calm voice. “Here comes the smolder.” And he fixed Sherlock with the face that sent most ladies (and men) swooning at his feet. Unfortunately, it did not seem to have this same effect on Sherlock. The boy gazed back, looking so utterly confused that Ace stifled a laugh. “Okay.. fine. I’ll take you to see the lanterns,” he relented with a heavy sigh. 

“Really?” Sherlock, in his excitement, smashed the pan against Ace’s temple, sending the man sprawling to the floor. “Oops!” 

“You broke my smolder,” Ace whined.


	4. Chapter Three:

“You coming, Curly?” Ace called, peering up at the boy, who was dangling from the tower by his hair and looking as if he had just seen a ghost. The boy looked down at him with wide, frightened eyes and Ace felt a pang of compassion for the boy. “It’s alright… it’s not that far to the ground. You can do it,” he encouraged. 

With Ace’s reassurance, the boy slid to the ground. As soon as his bare feet touched the grass, he turned impossibly pale. Slowly, he went down on his knees and leaned down, sniffing at the grass and the flowers. He was like a little child, lost in the wonder of this brilliant new discovery. There was something endearing about the way his nostrils flared as he took in new scents and his eyes grew so large Ace was afraid they would pop out from their sockets. “Grass…. Dirt… flowers… better than I dreamed they’d be,” Sherlock whispered, plucking a small blossom and holding it to his chest as if it were a precious diamond. 

Ace couldn’t hold back his smile. He knelt down on the grass beside Sherlock. “Amazing, isn’t it?” There was something about Sherlock and how he was so excited that made Ace appreciate even the simplicity of grass and the smell of dirt. 

“Oh yes… amazing…” There were tears in Sherlock’s eyes but before Ace could ask why, the boy had leapt up and was running carefreely across the meadow, whooping joyfully at the top of his lungs. He flung his arms out and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the sun. “I hope this isn’t a dream! But if it is, I hope I never, ever, ever wake up!” Then, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, an expression of horror on his face. “I can’t believe I did this,” he mumbled. “Father will be so furious…” 

Ace raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly the boy was talking about. Gently, he laid a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“Um...yeah… I mean… it’s okay. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him right?” Sherlock laughed weakly. “Let’s go.” 

The two companions traveled across the meadow, through the cave tunnel, and onto a rough road overgrown with grass. Ace was relieved when Sherlock seemed to shake off his trepidation and started enjoying himself. Every so often, they would have to stop so Sherlock could examine an interesting flower or plant or just gaze at some birds sitting in a tree. 

“This is so fun!” Sherlock squealed, chasing after a ruffled brown squirrel. 

The next moment: “I’m a horrible person. I’m going back!” 

A few moments later: “I’m NEVER going back!” 

“Kid? You okay?” Ace asked with concern. He cleared his throat awkwardly upon noticing that Sherlock was beginning to cry. “You know… I can’t help but notice, you seem a little at war with yourself here. I’m picking up bits and pieces. Sort of a protective parent, forbidden road trip. This is serious stuff. But-” here he paused and patted Sherlock amiably on the back- “let me ease your conscience. This is part of growing up. A little rebellion, a little adventure. That’s good, healthy even.” 

Sherlock laughed humorously, but there was hope in his eyes. “You think?” 

“I know. You’re way over-thinking your stress meter, kid. Did your mother-” 

“Father.” 

“Did your father deserve it? Will this break his heart and crush his soul? Well, of course. But you’ve just got to do it.” 

Sherlock looked mortified “Break his heart?” 

“It can.” 

“Crush his soul?” 

Like a grape.” 

“He would be….heartbroken, you’re right,” Sherlock whispered. 

Ace smirked. It had worked. “Likely.. Alright. I can’t believe I’m saying this but…. I’m letting you out of the deal.” 

Sherlock looked up, startled. “What?” 

“Let’s just turn around and you go home, and your dog. I get back my satchel. You get back a father-son relationship based on mutual trust and voila! We part ways as unlikely friends!” 

Redbeard growled and if Sherlock was a dog, he would have growled too. “No!” he snapped firmly. “I’m seeing those lanterns.” 

“Oh come on!” Ace shouted, frustrated. “What is it going to take to get my satchel back?” 

Sherlock held up the pan. “I will use this.” 

Ace held up his hands. “Alright okay. Fine. Whatever. I don’t care… Let’s just get this over with.”

They continued their trudge down the path, Ace keeping a wary eye on Sherlock and his pan. Redbeard ran about maddeningly, sniffing everything and chasing butterflies. Sherlock had to keep calling him back before he wandered off too far. Suddenly, Ace was aware of something growling and he realized that it was Sherlock. He turned around and saw that the boy looked mortified. “You hungry?” 

Sherlock, his cheeks flushed, nodded. 

“I know a great place for lunch! It’s awesome. You’ll know it when you smell it. It’s just down the road. Just another mile. You could use a drink, my friend.” He clapped Sherlock rather roughly on the back and the kid nearly stumbled over. “Oops sorry. Forgot you’re not used to that.” 

They came around a bend in the road and were greeted with the sight of what appeared to be a ramshackle inn. A crooked sign hung on a rotten post: The Yard. Several tired looking nags were tied to a crooked hitching post, eating from a pile of hay. A flea-bitten hound dog lay in the middle of the path, watching the road with tired eyes. From within the inn came a bright, warm, glowing light. “This is it! The Yard.” Ace took Sherlock’s arm and marched him up to the door. “Welcome to the real world, Sherlock.” 

He flung the door open. 

****************************

Sherlock gripped his pan with both hands as they entered the dim saloon. Within the dark interior, there were several splintered wooden tables. Dirty, greasy, and foul-smelling men and women crowded about the table. Some were playing card games and others were fast asleep, their hands clutched around cups of foaming beer. Antlers and stuffed deer heads adorned the filthy walls. Grimy lanterns gave off a dim mellow light. At the bar stood a haggard looking man whose graying hair did not fit his youthful face. He was scrubbing furiously at a few glass beer cups. When John and Sherlock entered the saloon, he looked up and instantly, his face darkened. 

“Oi, Watson. What are ya doin’ here?” he asked, setting down a glass and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Sherlock nervously trailed after Ace, casting glances at the slumped figures sitting at the table. Already, dozens of pairs of eyes were glued on him and his traveling companion. 

“My friend here, Curly, would like a drink, Dimmock,” John said, putting on what Sherlock knew to be a fake smile and leaning casually against the bar. 

Dimmock held up a piece of paper. “Is this you?” 

Sherlock stared at the paper. There was a crude sketch of what appeared to be John on the paper. “Wanted: dead or alive,” he whispered and he gripped his pan harder. 

“No, no, this is being mean, Dimmock Come on! Like old times, huh? Let bygones be bygones!” John quickly said, his face flushing. 

“Oh, it’s him all right.” 

Sherlock turned to see who had spoken. It was a young woman dressed in a whorish revealing costume. She had beautiful dark skin and eyes. Her dark curls were drawn back into a braid. She put a cigarette to her mouth and inhaled. “Ace Watson. Wanted: Dead or alive. Reward: 500 sovereigns.” The young woman grinned maliciously, tossing her cigarette to the ground and grinding it with her heel. “Oi! Phillip, go find some guards! That reward is going to buy me some new shoes.” 

Phillip, a greasy, sour looking man with an ugly scar across his left cheek, frowned. “What about me, Sally?” he whined. “I’m broke!” 

“Alright, stop it,” Dimmock interrupted. “This is my saloon, I get the reward-” 

“Not on my watch!” Sally growled, lunging forward and grabbing John by the sleeve. 

“What the-” John found himself in the huge meaty hands of a large hulk with a scraggly red beard. 

“You’re going to make me a lot of money, Watson,” the monster growled, grinning wickedly. 

“Wait!” Sherlock cried, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. Redbeard circled John and the man, growling loudly. “Put him down! Give me back my guide!” He tried to claw the man’s hands off of John but the man merely flung out an arm and shoved him away. Sherlock skidded across the floor and crashed into a heavily drunk woman. She kicked him in the ribs and cursed at him. Frightened, he scuttled away, clutching his pan to his chest. Already more drunkards and ruffians were surrounding John, each trying to get at him and pay him back for whatever he’d done. Sherlock exchanged glances with Redbeard. “Okay… I can do this,” he whispered and he raised his pan high above his head. “PUT HIM DOWN!!!” he screamed and bonged John’s captor on the head. 

Instantly, the fighting stopped and a dozen beady eyes turned to Sherlock. 

Sherlock drew in a trembling breath and smiled weakly. “Okay… I don’t know where I am, and I need him to take me to see the lanterns, because I’ve been dreaming about them my entire life! Find your humanity! Haven’t any of you ever had a dream?” 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. 

Then, the red-bearded man dropped John to the floor. “I… I had a dream. Once.” 

Sherlock brightened. “Okay! Good sir, what was your dream?” he asked, lowering his pan, much to the relief of the crowd. 

The large man shifted uncomfortably and blushed. “Well… I’ve always wanted to be a concert pianist.” 

*******************************

Ace watched in dumbfounded shock as Sherlock sat down and got everyone to tell him their dreams. There was something endearing and adorable about Sherlock, who sat cross legged on top of a table, pan in one hand and the other doing frantic gestures as he told of his dream to see the lanterns. The criminals and drunkards, usually so vulgar and ready to fight, listened with rapt attention, their eyes glued onto the beautiful boy sitting on the table. Something within John fluttered and he felt his cheeks heating up when Sherlock’s eyes met his. Quickly, he glanced away and focused on fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. 

Suddenly, the door burst open. 

“I found the guards!” a young boy shouted. 

Several of the king’s guardsmen pushed their way into the saloon. 

Ace grabbed Sherlock’s hand and Rebeard’s paw and ducked behind the bar, heart pounding wildly. 

“Where’s Ace? Where is he?” one of the guardsmen shouted, pushing through the crowd of drunkards. Dimmock! Oi! Where is the criminal? I know he’s here somewhere!" Dimmock remained stoically silent, his dark eyes meeting the guardsman’s bravely. Looking exasperated, the guardsman turned to his companions. “Find him! Turn this place upside down!” 

Ace suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around and saw the concert pianist man. He gestured to a hatch in the floor. “Go on, live your dream,” he whispered with a tender smile that didn’t seem to fit his grotesque features. 

“I will, thanks,” Ace whispered, overcome with emotion. 

“Your dream stinks. I was talking to him.” 

“Oh…” 

Sherlock pecked the man on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.” 

Together, they ducked into the tunnel.


End file.
